You Can Never Go Home Again
by Katharos
Summary: Post ESB A Rebel pilot crashlands near Anchorhead. Four Tatooine youths disover him, and find a familiar though much changed face.
1. There Were 7 In the Bed and 3 Fell Out

Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, I don't own any of it.

You Can Never Go Home Again.

Night Fell on Tatooine.

It swept over the seedy and corrupted city of Mos Eisley, over the small, poor town of Anchorhead, over the outlying moisture farms that scraped a living form the moisture starved air.

On the Dune Sea, small desert rats dug their way out of their deep burrows, following ancient patterns hard wired into their DNA, ready to take advantage of the cool night air before the heat of the twin suns drove them underground again. The small colony moved over the ground, strong, small front paws digging swiftly at the rapidly shifting sands, searching for the small hard seeds of the brief desert plants. The utter silence was broken only by the chirps of the rodents and the soft sighing of the wind.

Abruptly, as if on a pre-arranged signal, every one of the desert rats bounded upright, balancing deftly on long toes, spread wide over the sand, huge ears twitching, heads all turned in the same direction.

Suddenly, the noise of the soft hum the rats had felt grew louder, and brilliant, harsh white lights flooded the formerly dark area. The colony scattered as the speeder roared overhead, darting for the safety of the dark outside the light as the speeder continued on and disappeared deeper into the desert.

Camie sat up straight in the front passenger seat of the speeder, pulling her jacket even tighter around herself against the cold night air, even as she craned her neck around easily, desert-bred eyes examining the unchanging scenery around the minutely. 

Besides her, in the pilot's seat, Fixer shifted his bulk, eyes also scanning the dunes ahead of them as his hands gripped the controls of the speeder jealously. 

"Why are we even out here?" a voice demanded from behind them. Deak stuck his head in between the two front seats to continue his complaint. "What do you think the chances are that we will even find anything?"

Camie turned to regard him, making sure the line of her neck sloped invitingly down to her cleavage as she did so. The boy's eyes were drawn irresistibly downwards before he yanked them back up to her face with an audible gulp. Camie smirked smugly to herself as she answered, pleased that she could still get a reaction out of him.

"Because idiot," she said. "We've got a good idea where that ship went down and besides," her eyes sparkled, "what if we _did find it? Remember what we heard on the old receiver Fixer dug up from the Station's basement?" _

Deak fell silent, remembering, Camie was sure, the battle they had witnessed earlier just as night fell. It had been low enough in the atmosphere that they had been able to see the flashes of light from the lasers, and the glints of light that were the ships reflecting the last of the sun. The whole gang had turned out to watch. Space battles were not uncommon around Tatooine, seeing as it was controlled by the Hutts and therefore a popular smuggler's base. But they were fairly rare where they could be observed from Anchorshead, and therefore watching a space battle was a welcome, exciting break from the hum drum that was a typical Tatooine youth's life. 

But the _real_ excitement, the reason why they were out here in the desert with night closing in around them, was in what Fixer had found. He had been fiddling with an old receiver he had found in Tosche Station's basement for weeks. But suddenly, the rusty old thing- at least pre Clone War era if not older- has started receiving transmissions. The Rebels must have been trying to dodge interception by using an ancient frequency.

Rebels.

Camie felt a small thrill shiver through her as she thought that name. Despite the Imps attempts to stop them, stories of the Rebels still filtered through in a network of underground newspapers and broadcasts. The Death Star and its destruction, tales of the legendary Rogue Squadron, battles fought by fearless Rebels, garrisons destroyed, prisoners rescued. Rumours that the Last Jedi fought for the Rebels, of the Princess of Lost Alderaan, of dashing heroes…

"You're right," Deak said, breaking into her thoughts. Camie blinked, startled, as her mind was pulled back to the present.

"Of course I am," she said airily, tossing her head so her loose hair whipped across Deak face, still poking between the two forward seats. Fixer sniggered next to her as Deak pulled back quickly and she threw him an easy smile, excitement pounding in her breast.

Camie remembered how this had come about, how the day had changed from an ordinary day, the sameness of it to all the others that had gone before mind-numbing, to this.

The gang had gathered on the flat roof of Tosche Station, heads tilted upwards to watch the show, passing a pair of macrobinoculars- and a can of something alcoholic- around. Beneath them, Fixer's voice had drifted up, indistinct grumbles as he shifted through the clutter of his room. Camie remembered how she had taken her eyes of the light show above her for a minute to glance sideways at the two boys sharing the roof with her. It had been Windy's turn with the macrobinoculars and he was staring up at the battle through them. Deak, seated beside him, had been watching him closely, impatient for his turn. She remembered how she had felt a strange pang at the sight of the two of them. There were only four of them left now, the other three gone. Tank- a fighter pilot somewhere in the Empire. Wormie- who knew. Biggs- dead. Again, Camie felt that strange catch in her chest. 

Biggs' father, Huff Darklighter, had summoned them one day a few years ago. They had gone to the Darklighter estate and been led through to his study, desert bred eyes widening at the sight of the water sculptures, marvelling at them no matter how often they had visited. When they had been let into the study, Darklighter had been standing in front of his desk, hands gripping the edges tightly enough to leave marks in the wood- real wood- piece. Shudders racked his huge frame every now and then, and his face seemed to have aged years since they last saw him. 

In the present, Camie closed her eyes as his grief strained voice drifted into her mind from the past.

"I'm sorry… there's been… [Shuddering sigh.] We've just received a message from the Academy. [Sound of swallowing.] Biggs… Biggs was killed. A training accident they said. [Silence. Then, softly] I'm sorry.

They had left the estate in a daze, though Camie remembered seeing a small, tearstained face, one of Biggs' young cousins, peering at them from around a priceless piece of potted foliage.

In another place, perhaps one of the densely populated core worlds, they wouldn't have become friends. Indeed, it could be argued that the small collection of misfits weren't friends even now. But they had been drawn together by similar ages and similar interests, and by the dearth of other children in the small outpost. And they had known each other for most of their lives in this dusty, dead corner of a dusty, dead planet. Now, three were gone and four remained, and would likely remain for the rest of their lives. Fixer was training to take over the Station, Camie was taking an Accountant course over the Holo-Net, and Deak and Windy were preparing to take over the respective family businesses. Dull, boring, and utterly predictable.

But this… Camie's eyes sparkled with just how unpredictable it was.

She hadn't even bothered to turn around when Fixer came pounding up onto the Station's roof, though Windy and Deak quickly came to attention, respect for Fixer's size and strength deeply ingrained. She had just twitched her low-cut top into a slightly more revealing position and ignored him. Camie remembered Fixer's shouts of excitement, which had become progressively more annoyed as she continued to ignore him, until he grabbed her shoulder and pulled at her. She had rolled her eyes as she turned around with a put upon sigh, to see what had her default boyfriend so worked up.

Fixer had cradled the broken down receiver, held together by the duct tape and spit, as if it was the last cask of water on the whole planet. But she hadn't even thought of teasing him about it. She was instantly fixated on the ancient machine and the sounds it was making. The quality was awful, the transmission filled with the crackly sound of interference. What few sounds that weren't wiped out were tinny sounding, barely recognisable as human. However, they had been able to glean enough from the broken up transmission to understand what was happening. The battle overhead- it wasn't a clash between two rival smuggling factions; it was a battle between the Empire and the Rebellion. 

Camie thought of how they had listened greedily for any coherent dialogue, which was miniscule. But what they had heard was enough. Pleas, orders, warnings, advice, threats, all a broken up garble. But more importantly, a single word, again and again- Rogue. The legendary Rogue Squadron, heroes of so many battles, enshrouded in mists of rumours and myths. When they had understood who it was, they had hung onto every bit of clear speech they could even more eagerly, though there was little enough of that. However, the voices they were listening to had become more panicky and urgent, then finally calm voice had cut through, its authority apparent even through they had not been able to distinguish any words.

There were brief flashes of light above and a sudden silence over the receiver as the X Wing squadron went to hyperspace. But the group on the roof of the station had barely paid any attention to these events, too captivated by the small speck in the far distant that was growing closer unbelievable fast. Camie had snatched the macrobinoculars from Windy's lax hand, paying no attention to his protests as she lifted them to her eyes to catch a brief glimpse of the infamous 'X' silhouette, and the smoke trailing behind it before it disappeared from her vision. She had lowered the macrobinoculars to stare out into the desert, plotting in her mind where the X-Wing had crashed.

"I think it came down over there," Windy had said quietly, pointing in a specific direction out into the desert. The four of them exchanged quick glances. There was no need for any discussion. Shortly afterwards, they had piled into the four-seater speeder and roaring out into the desert, towards where they had seen the ship go down.

"There," Windy said quietly, cutting into her thoughts. There was silence as Fixer swung the speeder around and brought it to a stop. The silence continued and a kind of anticipation hung in the air as they piled out of the speeder, eyes fixed on the sight they had come to see. Half buried in the side of a dune, metal dark against the sand, with only the small sounds of cooling metal, lay the sight they had come to see.

*******


	2. Why Not to Annoy Protective Astromech Dr...

You Can Never Go Home Again.

Chapter 2

Fixer studied the craft in front of him, only dimly aware of the two idiots and Camie coming up beside him; too busy drinking in everything he could of the sight in front of him.

The X-Wing must have come down fast – its nose was half buried in the sand as was one of its S-foils, still open and locked in attack position. Fixer frowned in thought, remembering something from one of the information disks he had devoured when he still dreamed he might go to the Academy. Weren't the S-foils of an X-Wing supposed to close into a more streamlined position when entering the atmosphere of a planet? The mechanism probably got hit during the battle Fixer decided, and had to bite his tongue against the rush that filled him at that thought. He clenched his fists at his sides impotently, for this battle scared X-Wing was probably the closest he'd ever get to a real battle. 

Brilliant white light flooded the area and Fixer cursed virulently, bringing a hand up to shade his pounding eyes, and glared malovently at Deaks who wilted under the glare, clutching the light he held to his chest. Fixer snorted, satisfied, and turned away, going back to his study of the downed craft. 

The light did make things in the immediate area easier to see, though it painted darker shadows behind the dunes and X-Wing. Fixer glanced sideways as Camie came up beside him, slipping her hand through his arm. Excitement made her look younger than the cynical, jaded woman he knew her to be. 

"Where's the pilot?" she half-whispered. Fixer blinked, startled, and swung his head back 'round to study the X-Wing. She was right. The ship was perched drunkenly on its side, its cockpit facing towards them. The canopy had been forced open manually, though it seemed that the pilot had only managed to push it back about half way, and restraints – clearly delineated by the light – dangled loosely through the opening.

Of the pilot there was no sign.

"I was just wondering that," Fixer grumbled, frowning. 

"Maybe he thought we were Imps," Windy offered quietly. Fixer grinned at that thought then frowned, regarding the X-Wing impatiently. 

"We're not going to find anything just standing here," he declared and, shaking free of Camie, he began striding impatiently towards the ship, the other three trailing after him.

When Fixer was just a few metres away from the X-Wing, the sand suddenly erupted in front of him, beeping furiously. Fixer let out a high pitched yelp, falling backwards and landing heavily on his butt, staring wide-eyed at the apparition in front of him. 

When the sand had first erupted, the three idiots behind him had let out short, frightened screams, but gradually they faded into silence. Then the laughter began, sniggers from Deaks and Windy, giggles from Camie.

Fixer scowled furiously at his humiliator hot, burning embarrassment stoking the fires of his anger. The short, stubby astromech droid in front of him continued to beep, its tirade of whistles and screeches conveying its warnings.

Growling, Fixer surged to his feet, the irritation of the sand that had worked its way into his trouser legs not doing anything to calm him. The snickers from behind him finally died away as the half-wits took in the stiff, angry line of his back. Fixer grinned coldly in satisfaction at that before he began stalking menacingly towards the droid that still hadn't [i]shut. up.[i/] He was dimly aware of the other three following him, but most of his attention was on the droid that had made him embarrass himself.

Fixer nearly shot out of his skin when the droid suddenly broke of its litany of beeps and whistles and let out an ear-splitting screech that went right through his head, before falling silent.

Fixer glared at it suspiciously. Behind him Camie was whining about how her head was splitting and Deaks was telling her that she sounded like Wormie. Windy's voice broke through the noise, his tone hopeful.

"Is it broke?"

Fixer frowned down at the silent Droid warily. 

"Dunno," he answered absently, still considering his opponent. Gingerly he reached out to nudge it with his foot.

Nothing Happened.

Grinning maliciously, he swung his leg back to give the Sith-possessed little mechanical demon a good hard kick.

"Fixer, stop!" Windy's voice suddenly called out desperately in warning.

Too late. Fixer's kick already had too much momentum.

At the last second Fixer realised what was wrong and his eyes widened as his foot came into contact with the fork shaped protuberance in the droids side.

ZAP!

Fixer was flung back to the ground, flat on his back, body convulsing as the electrical current raced through him, leaving him panting and sore, stretched out on the sand.

When he finally had enough control over himself to sit up, Fixer was stunned to find Windy – 'Is it broke' Windy – kneeling, at a prudent distance, in front of the sith – spawned droid.

"Hey little guy, its OK," Windy said gently. "We're not gonna hurt you." Fixer snorted loudly and Windy cast him an annoyed look. He turned back to the droid, continuing to speak in low soothing tones. "We're not gonna hurt your master, either." Fixer jerked upright at that.

"What?" he demanded loudly.

"That's right," Deaks and Camie had come forward to join them now that the danger seemed to have passed. Cowards. Deaks was looking at the Droid curiously. "One man fighters like this often have astro droids with them." He nodded towards the ship. Fixer looked in that direction as he struggled to his feet, spotting the port behind the cockpit that he had missed before.

"So where is this scrap piles master?" he demanded. The Droid let out a low warning whistle and raised its improvised weapon menacingly. Windy ignored Fixer as he continued to talk soothingly to the paranoid astromech. 

"Look, we're not with the Empire, and we don't want to hurt him. In fact, I bet he's injured, isn't he?" The droid let out a sound that sounded surprisingly like a growl and rolled forward threateningly, electric socket extended. Windy backed away from the over protective droid hurriedly, raising his arms calmingly.

"Whoa, no, I didn't mean it like that!" he yelped as the droid rolled worryingly near. "Really, we were just wondering if we could help him at all! Promise!" The astromech stopped its advancement, rotating its head piece as if in thought and let out an inquiring, though dubious, whistle. It seemed to be considering them closely.

"I've never seen a droid with that much personality before," Camie murmured softly. Fixer snorted. If that's what you want to call it, he thought. The Sith-possessed beast seemed to be wavering, undecided.

"Its OK Artoo," a voice called out, clear and controlled, cutting through the still air, though Fixer couldn't tell where it came from. "Bring them up." 'Artoo' let out a doubtful sounding warble, but it obediently turned and began moving towards a shadowed place where two dunes intersected a short distance away.

The gang exchanged doubtful looks but finally, excitement, and a sense of having got this far, might as well go the rest, they followed.

____________

Can you tell that I'm projecting my feelings for my own tormentors on to Fixer? "grin" This fic is turning out to be so therapeutic!

Alright, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Can you tell me if I got Artoo's character right? I was really nervous about writing him! 

Next chapter we will see the meeting of the gang and Luke, and the first of the many revelations! I am currently debating how I am going to write this fic – it could go either of two ways after the first few chapters. It could either have all of the revelations fairly close together in a shorter fic, or they could be more drawn out, the fic longer, and with more action adventure. I'm leaning more towards the second option myself.

Please respond with comments and criticism – I feed upon them and they make me write faster!


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